Tell Me A Story
by hisdetective
Summary: "Rumpy," her new nickname for him. "I want to hear a story."  Rumplebelle, I might add more later
1. Chapter 1

I don't own these beautiful characters, just this adaptation.

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><p>Belle lightly drew her duster across the trinkets in the glass cupboard, careful not to knock anything over. She was very diligent in her work, one hand holding the duster and the other holding the shelf so she didn't fall over. She wasn't quite tall enough to reach the top shelf so she was standing on the lower-most shelf and reaching as far as her pale arms would allow.<p>

"Be careful, my dear. Wouldn't want to fall, like the cup." Rumplestiltskin's voice trilled out behind her, making her eyes widen in a combination of surprise and delight.

Belle grinned and tossed over her shoulder, "You know, I wouldn't keep dropping things if you wouldn't keep surprising me." She finished dusting, then turned to climb back down to the floor. Rumple's hand was there, sparkling softly in the sunlight. She looked into his eyes as she took it, stepping carefully to the ground and shutting the cupboard behind her. She turned back to make another remark at her captor, but he was already across the room, carefully spinning away.

She walked over to the table, putting down her duster warily, so she didn't shake off any dust and have to clean even more later. She slowly glided over to his spinning wheel, admiring how he could pretend to ignore her. "Rumpy," her new nickname for him. "I want to hear a story."

He paused in his spinning, cocking his head to the side as if he'd heard a strange bird. His eyes still fixated on the wheel, he began to spin again. "And what sort of a tale would entertain a fine maiden on this cold, sunny day?" His voice had a slight lilt to it, an accent that the beauty just couldn't place.

"A sort of fairy tale. One with a dashing prince—" Rumplestiltskin winced, "—a beautiful girl, danger, and above all: love." She sighed, settled onto a stool next to the window. "A love story, Rumpy. Tell me a love story."

He spun several more inches of gold, til she was nearly certain that he'd not heard her. Suddenly his voice came across the room. "I know of one love story, so you can't ask for it again unless you just want to hear the same one over and over again." Belle nodded. He continued…

"Once upon a time, as all these stories begin, there was a truly beautiful girl, the fairest in all the land. She had soft curls, and lovely lips – and the sweetest voice. The prince of the story, oh when he heard her speak he thought he was in heaven. He knew that he had to have the maiden as his, but he discovered that she was promised to another. He plotted, and planned, and schemed for weeks, as the wedding of the sweet girl drew nearer. Soon, he thought of a plan, and he approached the girl's father.

"He knew of a thing that the father wanted – peace for his kingdom – and the prince knew exactly how to give it to him. If the father would but give the girl over to the prince, the kingdom would resume a calm life, a simple life, a provincial life. The father refused, but the girl overheard the proposition and followed after the prince.

"'I'll do it!' the princess shouted after him, chasing in her long gown. The prince stopped, and the girl caught up to him, panting slightly. 'I'll give myself for my kingdom.'

"The prince, pleased, went back to the king and gave him what he needed to bring peace back to his kindom – a lovely golden bird, who would calm anyone who listened to it sing. With the girl in his possession now, the prince took her away to his castle." Belle's expression went from rapt to confused, and was nearing a slight understanding of what the man was speaking of. He spoke faster, feeling a burning need to get his story out, to tell her, to make her see—

"The prince never revealed his plan to the girl, knowing that she would never believe it if she heard it – that he was truly in love with the maiden, had been in love with her for a very long time, before she even knew the prince existed. But the prince wasn't the traditional kind of prince – he wasn't in line for the throne of any kingdom, but in fact he was another type of prince. He was a prince of power, a man with magic, a different sort than the princess had ever encountered before.

"He was terrified that his magic would consume her, overwhelm her, and his desire for her would overtake any inclination of her own, so he kept his distance for a while. He gave her trinkets to encourage affection, but made her do the dusting so she understood that he wasn't completely a charmer. After a while, the prince wanted to know – no, he desperately needed to know – if his affections were returned, and so…" He trailed off.

Belle was staring out the window, watching a bluebird build a nest for its mate. She was nearly breathless when she whispered, "And so-?"

Rumplestiltskin swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I think that's enough for today." He began spinning again, his hands shaking slightly.

Suddenly, the beauty was next to him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. He froze, his hand still guiding the wheel around, gold still spilling out of the end. "I need to know the ending of the story, Rumpy."

He looked up at her, into her gentle brown eyes and nodded reluctantly. "And so he told her." He looked down at her hand on his shoulder, relishing the warmth emenating through his thick sleeve. He knew he would not feel it again after this moment.

"And the girl…did she feel the same?" Bell asked gently, her thumb slowly rubbing over his shoulder. Rumplestiltskin looked up at her, feeling tiny and weak at his wheel.

"I—I don't know. That's for the girl to decide." And he was gone.

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><p>Reviewers get to learn how to spin gold.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

These lovely creatures are not my own.

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><p>Belle sat down at the wheel and put her chin in her hands, staring at the pile of gold in the basket. She watched as the sun moved through the sky, glinting at different pieces as it changed positions. She sat there until her back began to ache, and still sat there. She sat and waited, waited for the prince of magic to come back, waited for a bolt of understanding, waiting for something. But nothing came.<p>

She stood, her back complaining, and fetched the feather duster. She dusted the long dining table, fluffed the pillow on Rumpel's chair, and wandered off to her own room.

Rumpel lay face-down on his bed for hours, listening intently for the sound of the front door. Obviously his captive figured it out, obviously she knew that he was in love with her and had stolen her away for his own selfish heart, obviously she hated him, obviously she would run away. He sighed and sat up, rearranging his cuffs. He walked over to his window, smudging some of the dirt away to look outside. He'd forbidden Belle from coming into his bedroom – he didn't want her to see the disaster that it had become since he lost his son. There were broken mirrors, shredded pictures, rags, dusty gold everywhere. It was perilous to even step into the room, and it was the room that needed her care the most. But he couldn't let her in there. He couldn't let her see how broken he'd become. She was just beginning to fix him.

He watched out the window, staring at the road, expecting to see a flash of blue and green as his lady raced away from his castle. The sun moved across the sky, and there was nothing. Did he miss her? Was she already gone?

He tore down the stairs, terrified, heart racing. He needed to know. He needed to see if she was gone. His nails scraped along the stone walls as he ran, his eyes flicking across every room he came across. Not in the kitchen. Not in that bedroom. Not there, no, not there either. Suddenly, all energy left him. The girl was gone. He was alone. He didn't need to tear the whole castle apart to know that. She was gone. His girl was gone. His Belle…was gone.

He slumped against a wall, skidding down to sit against it, ripping the back of his shirt in the movement. He pulled his thin legs against his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He'd lost her. How stupid of him – he could have told her the story of Snow and her Prince, he could have told her about Ella, he could have told her about any other story – not this one. Not his, not hers, not…theirs.

He brought a hand up, digging the heel into his eyes. He couldn't cry. Rumpelstiltskin did not cry. But his body betrayed him, and a single tear fell, light as a petal, and stained his knee. He stayed like that, pushing his tears back into his eyes. He was in that position for a long time, hours in his mind, when he suddenly heard the swish of skirts.

He swiftly stood, completely composed as if nothing had happened. Heart pounding, he turned the corner nonchalantly, to find the flash of green and blue he'd expected earlier.

"Now, Rumpy, what have I told you about throwing plates when you're angry? Now I'll have to sweep for another hour. Don't you come in here – you'll cut up your feet." Belle poked at him with her broom gently, shooing him out of the servant's quarters kitchen. Unable to speak, Rumpelstiltskin just stared at her, then let out a trilling laugh.

"Of course, my dear. Be careful. Wouldn't want to hurt yourself." And he stepped back to watch.

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><p>Reviewers get to mend Rumpel's waistcoat.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own these characters, just the little fantasies in my mind.

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><p>After she'd finished cleaning up from his temper tantrum, he led her up to her room, and told her to dress nicely. There was a whole wardrobe for her – despite her tendency just to wear the simple blue frock she usually had on. He closed the door gently behind her and stood there for a moment, listening to her judging each article of clothing as either 'too cumbersome' or 'not pretty enough' for this mysterious event.<p>

He chuckled very softly so she didn't hear, and walked off to his own room, hopping up the stairs to the west wing. His feet danced underneath him, and he considered asking the lass for her version of the ending for the tale.

Rumpel got dressed in a fine blue suit – a little baggy on him, but still a very nice one. He smoothed his hair away from his face, and put on some white gloves. The gold trim on the suit made his skin sparkle, but he suspected his inclination towards smiling nowadays added to that. He trailed down the stairs, hand gliding along the handrail ("It just isn't right – someone could fall!" His lady had insisted that they install handrails).

He got just outside her door and held his breath for a moment, listening to her fussing at her hair for a moment before he knocked. "Belle, are you ready for your surprise? I think you're really going to like it." He'd seen her book collection that she'd brought with her to the castle, and he was going to make her a fancy dinner and eat with her in the middle of the large library that the castle encased.

"Yes, one moment just one—" There was a crash, and the crunch of boots on broken glass.

Rumpelstiltskin burst into the room, all forgotten in the panic. _Was she hurt? Had she fallen? Was she okay?_ The room was a disaster, the stained glass window shattered – he'd given her the most beautiful room – glass all over the bed, through her wardrobe, dug into the carpet. He looked around the room quickly, trying to locate the girl, and found her huddled next to the window.

"Belle! What happened? Are you okay?" He took a step forward to comfort her. Belle shook her head emphatically.

"Don't move! Don't! Rumpel!" was all he heard before the world went black.

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><p>Reviewers get to take a tour of the library with Belle~<p> 


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